Dethopoly
by Citizenjess
Summary: Someone has to be the banker. Co-written with D for brutalbusiness' January challenge.


Summary: Someone has to be the banker. Co-written with D for brutalbusiness' January challenge, "Games are Brutal".

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**Dethopoly**

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When Nathan Explosion darkened his doorway in the prime of a Friday evening, Charles Foster Ofdensen did not know what to expect. "Nathan," he offered, nonetheless greeting the hulking front man. "What can I do for you?"

Nathan glowered at him. He was not necessarily angry; he was just naturally predispositioned towards scowling. "You should come out here," he said simply. "It's important."

Flummoxed, Charles rose from his desk and trailed swiftly behind Nathan, who wound his way down Mordhaus' daunting hallways, eventually coming to the main living area. There, lounging on a gigantic leather sectional, cloistered around a low-slung coffee table was the rest of the band. Charles squinted: "Is that .... a Monopoly game board?" he queried.

"Yeah," Nathan grunted.

Charles looked around, trying to figure out if something was on fire. Eventually, he determined that this actually was what Nathan called him out of the relative safety of his office for. "You, ah, wanted to show me your Monopoly game, Nathan?"

The singer rolled his eyes. "We want you to play with us." He made a sweep of the other members of Dethklok with a burly arm. "'Cause like, Skwisgaar and Toki don't understand American money, or something."

"Ja, but its ams nots really Americans," Skwisgaar chimed in. "We needs a bankers, though, because Murderface ams a cheats..."

"Fuck you, I do not!" Murderface spat.

Charles blinked. "Honestly, I've got a lot of work to do, guys. I'll see you later." He started to retreat, and was surprised when Nathan grabbed his arm.

"Stay," Nathan told him. "This is more fun." He looked Charles up and down. "You could use a little fun."

"Uh-huh," Charles said, mystified and a little taken aback. In spite of his best judgment, as well as the pile of paperwork sitting idle on his desk, he found himself traipsing after Nathan into the living room, acquiescing to their request for a pretend banker, as it were.

Pickles cupped the tiny silver game pieces in one hand. "Ahfdensen, you're the shoe," he proclaimed.

"I didn't know I was playing," Charles said slowly. "I thought I was here to be the banker."

"Ohs, buts yous ams gots to play!" Toki proclaimed. "It ams sos much fun!"

"Yeah, you've gotta play," Nathan added, taking the seat adjacent to him. It was close quarters; their knees bumped together. "Sorry," Nathan muttered.

Toki quickly called dibs on the little dog game piece; Skwisgaar inferred that he was best suited as the iron because of his "irons hands of guitar god". Toki sulked a little after that, wishing he'd thought of it first. Pickles grabbed up something that looked like a wheelbarrow for himself. "Okay, so there's ... a car, and a hat left," he ventured.

"I'll be the car," Nathan and Murderface yelled simultaneously. They slammed into each other, and jerked back, glaring.

"I should be the car," Murderface insisted. "It'sh in my blood. You know, like my Naschcar Hybrid Theatrical Event!"

"You mean the one where you shit your pants in front of everybahdy?" Pickles asked with a smirk, lining up his wheelbarrow with exacting precision in the GO box.

"This is MY band," Nathan pointed out, "I should get to be the car." He moved to snatch up the token again, but Charles grabbed it before Nathan could get to it.

"I'm thinking of a number between one and seven," he said calmly, as though he had to break up fights over small game play pieces every day. (He was surprised he did not have to do so more often, to be honest.)

"Three," Nathan grumbled softly, tucking his chin against his chest like a recalcitrant child.

"Sheventy-two!" Murderface crowed.

"That's ams not betweens one and sevens," Skiwsgaar drawled. "Sees? Murderfaces can'ts even counts."

Charles made a soft noise of dissatisfaction. "William, a number between one and seven, please," he said again, ever-patient.

Murderface crossed his arms. "Scheven," he finally said.

"My number was two," Charles shrugged. Charles handed Nathan the car. Pickles proffered the hat to Murderface, recoiling slightly when the latter was snatched from his fingers.

"So who goes first?" Pickles prompted. After multiple rolls and re-rolls of the die, coupled with three separate rounds of "I'm thinking of a number", an order was finally established.

Dethklok's collective approach to playing Monopoly was very similar to their general approach to most things – buy as much as possible and worry about money later. The one deviation from this pattern was, to Charles' mild surprise, Pickles, who passed on buying most of the higher-valued property and instead bought the entirety of the first three blocks, a move scoffed at by his band mates, but one Charles could see the value of. It was a tactic he was using himself, having purchased a railroad, a couple of inexpensive properties, and the water company.

"I will trades you the Electrextric companies for yours Park Places," Toki wheedled at Skiwsgaar, holding up the aforementioned electric company card.

Skiwsgaar scoffed. "You ams not classies enough for Parks Place," he informed the Norwegian, turning up his nose quite literally at the proffered card. "Besides, you ams in jail. You cannots make deals from the Bigs House."

And it was true – Toki had been sent to jail an inordinate amount of times, to the point where Charles was tempted to see if the dice were rigged, or if someone had been putting extra "Go directly to jail" cards in the Chance pile. "Cans I get outs now?" he wailed.

"No," the rest of the band chorused. Toki had asked this question each of the four times that he'd lost his ability to pass "go" or collect $200. He pouted, and then snickered when Murderface landed on Baltic Avenue. "Pickle ams the owners of thats!" the rhythm guitarist squealed, ecstatic at the notion of someone else being unfortunate enough to suck at Monopoly for once. "Ands it ams has a hotel!"

"That hotel's not up to building standards," Murderface scoffed. "I don't have to pay him shit."

"Uh, yeah, you do," Nathan interjected. "You owe Pickles like, ten-thousand dollars."

"I do not!"

"You owe Pickles seventy dollars, William," Charles mediated.

Murderface threw a cream $100 bill at the CFO. "Break it," he ordered.

Nathan kicked the bassist in the shin. "Say 'please'," he growled.

"Why don't you eat my shorts?" Murderface retorted. Nathan kicked him again. "OW! All right, jeezy! Please," he spat, eyeing Charles beadily as he divvied up the money into smaller bills. "Fuck this game," he muttered, rubbing his leg.

"Ja, fucks this games because yous ams terribles at its, Murderfaces," Toki crowed, still in jail.

"Shut up, Toki."

"I dos not haves to shuts up!" Toki replied. "You cannots hurt me, I ams in jails, where the guards will protects me." Toki often had trouble differentiating reality from board-game fantasy, a point proven when Murderface reached over the table and smacked him.

"Ahem." Pickles made a show of clearing his throat. "I think you still owe me seventy bucks." He held out his hand and gestured, and Murderface slapped the colorful paper into his palm along with a loogey. Pickles wrinkled his nose and wiped the soiled fake currency against the bottom of the table.

"My turn," Nathan said, snatching up the dice and rolling. "FREE PARKING!" he bellowed as the dice flipped over, as he had done on every turn so far, as if the power of his vocal chords could determine how the dice lay. As it so happened, this was not the case. "Fucking Reading Railroad," he grumbled, moving his car to the requisite space. "I hate reading."

"I think it's the name of a town or somethin'," Pickles told him.

"Whatever."

It was Charles' turn. He managed to luck out and land on something that wasn't owned by Pickles, who had taken pains to build property on all of his neighborhoods. Skwisgaar rolled and landed on the Free Parking square, much to Nathan's chagrin. Similarly, everybody grumbled at Pickles when he landed on one of his own properties.

Finally, it was Toki's turn to roll again, freshly sprung from jail. He cupped the die between his palms and made what looked like a small prayer request to whichever minor deity presided over board games. He let the die fall from his hands and they flipped a few times before coming to rest. Toki very carefully counted out each of the spaces allowed him. "Communities Chest!" he said happily, snatching up one of the cards. Charles half expected it to send the poor guitarist right back to jail, but to everyone's surprise, Toki cried out, "I gets to go to the nearest railsroad!" Once again moving with deliberate precision, Toki counted the spaces until he reached Pennsylvania Railroad. "I ams will buys this train."

"Ah, I already own it, Toki," Pickles pointed out. "An' since I own two railroads, you owe me fifty bucks."

"FUCKS THAT!" Toki shouted, throwing the money at Pickles.

"You know," Nathan said after Toki had sat back on the sofa in a huff, "there should be a Dethklok Monopoly game. Like, Dethopoly or something."

"Monopsokloks," Skwisgaar suggested.

Nathan nudged Charles' knee again, albeit deliberately this time. "You should make that happen," he hinted.

Charles shrugged. "It could be marketable."

"It's like, the most brutal game ever," Nathan continued, picking up the die. "Like, your friends take your money and make you stay in their shitty hotels."

"Ands sends yous to jail," Toki chimed in sadly.

Nathan landed on the blue Boardwalk square and decided to buy it. "Your turn, Dogface," he told Murderface.

Murderface made a big show of shaking the die in his cupped hands. "Watchsh and learn, fellash," he lisped and tossed the die onto the board.

"Vermont Ave! With a hotel!" Pickles crowed, pumping his fists in triumph. "Hand over the dough, Murderface!" He held out both hands in expectation.

Murderface rifled through his fast-diminished wad of Monopoly money. "Can I trade you something?" he asked. "I gotta have something better than your piece of shit here."

"Don't got enough?" Pickles asked with a smirk.

"Oh no! Murderfaces is going to go to jails because he cannots pay his rents!" Toki wailed, again forgetting that board games did not equal real life.

Murderface glanced through his properties. "I'll give you this one," he said, thrusting the "Pacific Avenue" card towards the drummer.

"Okay," Pickles shrugged. "If you give me the money, too."

"I don't have any money, dickfasch," Murderface yelled. "That's the point of giving you the fucking card!"

Pickles sat back. "I'm afraid the card alone won't pay off your debt to society." He grinned and gestured at the small pile of play money clenched tightly in the bassist's fist. "Pay up."

"I DON'T HAVE IT!"

Nathan looked to Charles. "They're going to do this all night," he pointed out. "You know they will."

Charles sighed and cleared his throat. "You could always, ah, mortgage some of your property, William," he offered.

Murderface's attention re-directed towards the CFO momentarily. "What does that mean?" he demanded.

The rest of Dethklok eagerly attempted to explain.

"It's when you flip over your card and then the bank gives you money -" Pickles began, only to be interrupted by a very enthusiastic Toki.

"They gives you moneys for flippings your cards, but - "

Pickles shot Toki a dirty look and continued his explanation. "But while your property's mortgaged, if anybody lands on it, you can't collect rent from - "

"You cants has peoples pays you if you have a morcabbage," Toki cut in.

"Toki! I'm explainin' it, okay?" Pickles said, holding up a hand. "But ... yeah. Basically what Toki just said. Only in English."

Murderface blinked, his eyes slightly glassy. He glanced at Pickles, then back down at his meager collection of Monopoly earnings. "Aw, fuck this!" he yelled. A well-aimed kick sent the entirety of the game pieces flying. "Fuck you assholes, too," he spat, and stomped out of the room.

"Wow, what a dick," Nathan roused. He watched Toki search frantically for his little dog statuette against the room's hardwood floors. "What should we do now?"

Skwisgaar made a show of grabbing Charles' arm and reading his wrist watch. "Ohs looks," he announced, "It ams beers o'clock."

"Yeah, time for beers!" Pickles cheered, and the Monopoly game was quickly forgotten.


End file.
